


Chained

by Svartalfur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svartalfur/pseuds/Svartalfur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When trapped in Azkaban, despair seems to be the only option. Help, however, can come from the most surprising of places.</p><p>Inspired by Alexandre Dumas's <i>The Count of Monte Cristo</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chained

Azkaban was a black hole in the North Sea. The magic that guarded the prison was so powerful it absorbed everything, even the light of the sun. Waves broke against an invisible barrier and formed a veil of spray. A nutshell boat, a mere plaything of the waves, bobbed up and down in the current. The boat was getting faster by the minute. No one stood at the helm, and the oars were neglected. The three wizards who occupied it huddled in the stern, where one of them, clad in a prisoner's grey robes, fought against the chains that bound his arms and legs.

"He needs more Calming Draught," a stocky wizard in Auror robes said.

His companion shook his head. He was wearing immaculate white robes that identified him as a high Ministry official, and his face, despite the green tinge, flashed arrogance and disdain. "He's had more than enough," he said. "If we wanted to kill him, we could have saved ourselves this uncomfortable excursion."

The Auror shrugged his shoulders. "I don't care one way or the other. I've never had the opportunity to come here before. It's kind of interesting."

"Then pray to whatever higher powers you believe in that you don't have to repeat the journey under less fortunate circumstances."

"Bad memories?" The Auror chuckled and immediately regretted it as his companion smacked him across the head with the handle of his cane. The fangs of the silver snake scratched his shorn scalp. "Ouch," he said. "That was uncalled for, Mr Malfoy."

"I don't think so, _Auror_ Goyle." Lucius Malfoy used a trough of the sea to straighten up to his full height, clutching his cane with both hands. He didn't resemble a sea-god so much as a fallen angel with a trident. "Show your superiors a modicum of respect, if you please."

Goyle nodded. "Sure," he said. When Malfoy raised an eyebrow, he hastily added, "Minister." The prisoner howled, kicking Malfoy's shin as hard as his bound legs allowed him. Malfoy fell backwards and cursed, Goyle kicked the prisoner in retaliation, and the boat rocked dangerously. "I don't understand why we can't petrify him and be done with it," Goyle said.

Malfoy had turned even greener. He fumbled for a vial in his robes and took a deep draught. "Stop being a cretin. We can't use magic inside the borders of Azkaban," he said. His voice was gruff. "Once we cross the wards, we're no better than Squibs."

Abruptly, Malfoy leaned across the rail of the boat, heaving. When he turned back, he had his face hidden behind a huge white handkerchief. "Finite Incantatem won't work. Whatever we do to him with magic here can't be undone there."

Goyle gave a shrug and grinned, but he left the prisoner, who was flopping about like a stranded fish, alone.

The boat neared the veil of spray that heralded the invisible barrier. The moment it made contact with the nothingness behind, a flash of lightning split the sky, forking down and creating a passageway. Thunder rolled, and the boat was gone.

Inside the wards, the sea was motionless. Not even the slightest ripple disturbed the eerie calm. A rock loomed in the distance, dark and menacing, with the tower of Azkaban Prison sitting on top of it like a raised finger. From a sky of molten silver, a diffuse grey light fell on the scenery, brushing everything with a ghostly shimmer.

"Row," Malfoy commanded in a sharp whisper, and he winced at the sound of the oars ripping the water.

Goyle had only done a few strokes before he stopped again. "What's that?" he asked, pointing ahead to where a strange vessel had cast off from the rock. It was a flat-bottomed gondola, long and narrow and painted black, and it was moving toward them. An Azkaban guard in black robes stood upright in the stern, a long pole in his hands. In front of him lay a prone figure on a bier, covered from head to toe in white bandages. Another guard sat in the bow. Malfoy nodded haughtily at the guards as the gondola passed by, and he and Goyle watched it slide soundlessly through the water, coasting to a halt close to the wards. The guards struggled to lift the bier and put it on the water without toppling the boat. As the gondola returned to Azkaban, the bandaged figure on the bier floated away and through the wards, not causing even so much as a ripple.

"What was that?" Goyle repeated.

"A burial," Malfoy said. "For most of its inmates, it's the only way to leave Azkaban." He looked down at his feet, at the prisoner who hadn't moved for some time now, and the hint of a smile flitted across his face. "The wards don't register dead matter, you see. Driftwood, seaweed, a corpse, it can all pass. Whereas a witch or a wizard ..."

Goyle reached for a small pendant dangling from a chain around his neck. It showed the letter A on one side and a boat on the other. Malfoy's smile turned diabolical. "You'd do well not to lose your permit. I'd hate to have to leave you behind."

Goyle hastily hid pendant and chain under his robes. "Now row," Malfoy said. "I've already spent too much time in this desolate place."

Back on terra firma, the green tinge gone, Malfoy was wholly himself again. He ordered the guards who had come to greet them at the berth to take charge of the prisoner.

"Wait for me," he instructed Goyle. "I have to pay a visit to a dear friend."

As the guards dragged him away, the prisoner pleaded in a slurred voice, "I'm not the bad guy, he is. Go after him! Arrest him! I'm the Minister for Magic."

The guards only laughed.

* * *

The door crashed shut. Harry was alone. He slid to the floor, dizzy from seasickness and an overdose of Calming Draught. Determined not to despair, he struggled to his feet again. The door was solid metal; his fists barely made a sound as they pounded against it. "Let me out of here! It's a conspiracy. Malfoy's a traitor. Let me out! I'm the Minister. LET ME OUT!"

By the time Harry finally gave up, the door was covered with smudges of blood, and his fists hurt like hell. Desperate, he looked around the cell. It wasn't much bigger than his old cupboard at the Dursleys' and contained nothing but a narrow bunk bed and a plank on the floor. The plank was so heavy he could barely lift it, but he managed to lean it upright against the wall. Beneath it was a hole, not big enough to squeeze into, but so deep that he couldn't see the bottom. It emitted a stench so foul it would have made a giant sick. Harry threw up his last meal, pumpkin stew and treacle tart, knocked over the plank with a clatter and pushed it back across the hole with all the strength he could muster. Then he sat down on the floor.

He didn't know how much time had passed. The light from the window high above his head was of the same diffuse quality as when he arrived. His eye fell on the bed, which was rusty all over, the original white paint only visible at the junctions of the metal bars, where it sat in fat blobs. There was no mattress. A mouldy blanket covered the bedsprings of the lower bunk, and the upper bunk was empty.

The bed frame was relatively lightweight. Harry dragged it under the window. It protested, squealed and groaned and tilted away from the wall, but it stayed in position long enough to allow Harry to climb it and take hold of the two vertical bars that obstructed the opening.

Harry raged. "I'm innocent," he shouted. The sea below wasn't moved by his cries, and the wards, a huge grey dome over the island, mocked him. "What good did it do," he imagined them saying, "to drive the Dementors away? We're just as terrible, and now that we've got you, our maker, we'll keep you forever."

"I didn't make you," Harry said. "I may have ordered the prison to be warded ... In fact, I suppose I did, but I didn't _make you_."

The wards were completely silent.

"I didn't make you!" Harry shouted again.

The damp and the cold woke Harry. The bed scraped across the stone floor as he tried to huddle deeper into the blanket, and the bedsprings pierced his back. He didn't remember lying down, but sleep had given him hope.

There was a surefire way to regain his freedom, and Harry could have kicked himself for not having thought of it earlier. His scar was even more famous now than it had been during his childhood. Lucius had made it the symbol, the _guiding light_ , as he called it, of the new wizarding world. It adorned the Ministry seal, shone from every official building in bright fairy lights, the shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade used it in their signs, and it appeared in the banner of the Daily Prophet.

"It will always remind us of our mistakes and of our salvation," Lucius used to say, ruffling Harry's hair with one of those fatherly gestures Harry had missed so much as a child. Harry cringed at the memory, but he felt a huge amount of satisfaction at the fact that Lucius had outmanoeuvred himself. Azkaban might be the end of the world, a godforsaken place, yet it was still part of wizarding Britain. The guards were bound to recognise the symbol of the government. As soon as he had the opportunity to show them his forehead, he'd be a free man.

Harry rose from the bed and positioned himself opposite the door. The guards would have to bring him something to eat shortly. He waited.

* * *

Harry wanked. There were no days and nights at Azkaban, no sunsets and sunrises. The warded sky was forever of the same grey, and the diffuse light never changed. What else was there to do?

As always when Harry wanked, he pictured Draco. Draco was smiling his small secretive smile, the one that made his nose and Harry's cock twitch, and his eyes were like stars. "Wait," Draco said, using exactly the same words he'd used when Harry had last seen him at Malfoy Manor. "Wait. Just a few more days, and we can be together."

Harry pumped harder. Draco waved a coquettish goodbye, and Ginny appeared in his place, looking at Harry with reproach. "Go away," Harry said.

"Pervert," she said. "Disgusting, filthy pervert." She walked out of his fantasy in a huff, leaving him to his _perversions_.

Harry called Draco's name, but daydream Draco turned out to be just as elusive as the man himself had always been. When Harry finally managed to force a few blobs of semen out of his sore prick, the sensation wasn't enough to allow for a pleasant sleepiness. Harry turned to the wall and closed his eyes, frustrated. There really was no escape from Azkaban.

Mere moments or hours later, the creaking sounds of a key being inserted into a lock woke him from an uneasy slumber. Harry didn't stir, didn't even move so much as an eyelid. He knew the procedure, and it was of no interest to him anymore.

The screech of metal against metal told him that the hatch in the lower third of the door was being opened. Water splashed, something scraped over the stone floor, and the stench of cabbage and rotten fish filled the cell; Harry's meal had been delivered.

"Hey, _Minister_ ," the guard called, "wanna play holding hands again?"

Harry balled his hands into fists. The knuckles of his right hand were still stiff from the clubbing they'd received when Harry had foolishly attempted to grip the hand of the guard through the hatch. Harry had given up trying to convince the guards of his identity, and he didn't respond to the taunts. When the hatch screeched shut, he scrambled off the bed and began to eat. The fish smelled worse than ever, and it looked green. Harry didn't care. He didn't know if he was hungry or suicidal.

* * *

A grey and diffuse amount of timelessness had passed when Harry once again woke to a scraping noise. This time, he couldn't identify the sound. He wondered if a rat had found its way into the cell, but decided against it; the noise was too steady and uniform to come from an animal.

Harry sat up and moved his head back and forth like an enchanted cobra, trying to locate the noise. It definitely came from the wall behind the bed. He jumped off the bed and pushed it out of the way. The squeal of the metal frame drowned out every other sound and, for a moment, Harry thought the noise had stopped. Then he heard it again: Scrape scrape scrape, deep inside the wall, as soothing as a lullaby.

Far from being sleepy, Harry pressed an ear against the cold stone. The noise was more distinct now, and it sounded like metal scratching on stone. A spoon? One of the tin bowls in which the meals were served? Could another prisoner be trying to send a message?

Harry had never wasted much thought on his fellow prisoners - they were, after all, criminals, and he was not - but the idea of communicating with one of them, with anyone, excited him. He grabbed his bowl, climbed onto the bed to dump the remaining cabbage soup out the window and scratched the bowl along the wall in a wild pattern. Breathing heavily, he sat down to listen.

Nothing. Silence.

Harry banged the bowl against the wall and hid his face behind cabbage-smelling hands.

Scrape scrape scrape. There it was again. Scrape scrape scrape? _Who are you?_ Harry could hear the question as clearly as if it had been spoken.

Scratch scratch scratch. _I'm Harry_. Scratch scratch scratch? _Who are you?_

Scrape scrape scrape. Scrape scrape scrape. _I'm a friend. I'm a friend. I'm a friend._

Harry let himself be lulled by the melody. Scrape scrape scrape. It spoke of comfort, of touch and warmth, of companionship. It was as beautiful as daydream Draco's face. More beautiful even, since it was real. Scrape scrape scrape. Harry was in his cupboard at the Dursleys' once more, and the Hogwarts letters thudded against the windows outside. Scrape scrape scrape. Harry was in the shack in the middle of the sea, and Hagrid's fists were booming against the door.

Harry wanted to open that door. While the tin bowl made a lot of noise, it turned out to be useless for any other purpose. Harry reached for his spoon and started to scratch in earnest. He worked feverishly, but the mortar was strong. It took him three periods between meals to loosen a single stone.

* * *

Time passed, and Harry counted it in stones. The cell soon resembled a miniature construction site. For the first time, he was glad that the guards never looked inside. The wall consisted of layers on layers of stones, varying in size from pebble to infant's head. Harry piled them up in a triumphal pyramid. Each stone was a new victory.

After five stones, the spoon snapped in two. Harry rejoiced when he found out that the sharp ends of the fragments were much more suitable for digging than the whole spoon had been.

After eleven stones, his hands were so badly skinned that he believed he couldn't go on. He swore never again to touch that blasted spoon and went to sleep. Scrape scrape scrape, his companion soothed him from behind the wall, scrape scrape scrape, _don't give up,_ and Harry didn't.

After eighteen stones, he could see a shimmer of light falling through a tiny gap in the mortar. He dropped the spoon shard and, with his hand, pushed against the stone next to the gap. About the size of a fist, the stone moved a little. By now, the hole in the wall was several feet deep, but it wasn't yet wide enough for Harry to squeeze his whole body through. He could either crouch down to look at the stone or work at it. Doing both at the same time was impossible.

The next time Harry bent down to peer through, the gap had broadened. The stone wobbled backwards and forwards, and then it was gone. For a second, a faint light flickered through the tunnel. Then something different took the place of the stone. Harry pushed his arm into the hole and encountered warmth, soft and hard at the same time. After several seconds, he realised what it was.

"Woohoo," he shouted. "Hey there. Hello." He gripped the hand of his digging companion and shook it as thoroughly as possible in the narrow confines of the hole. "I'm Harry. What's your name?"

The grip tightened on Harry's hand, and that was the only answer he got. Harry wondered if the other man was mute. It didn't matter. His touch, warm and steady and so much more comforting than anything Harry had felt in ages, was enough. They stayed like that for a long moment. The grey light of the wards didn't change - Harry's cell was still cold and damp - but it was as if the universe had taken a step to the right and given him a new, improved view. Hope, that was the word, Harry thought. Hope. He touched his face with his free hand, marvelling when his fingers encountered something wet. Tears were running down his cheeks.

Much later, he felt the thumb of his companion moving slowly across his palm, describing a triangle over and over again. Harry knew the signal, had often received it and sometimes given it himself. It was part of the secret code that gay wizards used to communicate. His companion was telling him that he was gay and fancied a fuck. Harry returned the signal. He was certainly interested. The universe had just smiled at him.

* * *

Time, when counted in stones, was dragging, and Harry could barely wait to touch more than the hand of his companion. He started to think of him as of _his lover_. It didn't matter that, so far, he had neither a face nor a voice to flesh out his fantasies. Long, elegant fingers replaced daydream Draco's starry eyes, fingers so dexterous they could play Harry like an instrument.

Harry wondered about the real Draco, the man who had told him he loved him yet had never touched him, the man who had promised him everything mere hours before his father committed treason. Harry didn't know what to believe anymore, and he preferred not to think about it. His lover, the only reality he now knew, was waiting behind the wall.

When, after another seventeen stones, Harry's middle finger got sucked into wet heat while suggestive slurping noises accompanied the most amazing sensation, he learned two things: that he still, like a teenager, could come without his cock being touched, and, probably more important in a situation as peculiar as theirs, that his lover could squeeze his body through his side of the tunnel.

And then, one fine day - or night, Harry couldn't tell - after fifty-three stones had gone by, the tunnel was complete. It lay before him, a hole wide enough to crawl through. Despite the low temperature of the cell, Harry was sweating. His heart throbbed violently in his chest, and his breath almost failed him when he called through the opening, "Do you want to come through, or do you prefer me to come to you?"

Heavy breathing was his only answer, and Harry was unsure what to do. After several heart-beats, the feeble light that had been shimmering through the hole vanished. The breathing was coming closer. Harry waited for his lover with bated breath.

The first he saw of him was his hand. It was as white as the underbelly of a dead fish, adorned by a pattern of red scratches, and the broken-off fingernails were black with dirt. The fingers, however, were long and elegant. A second hand appeared, followed by a head that was hidden behind long strands of hair, grey and filthy. When his lover finally managed to climb into Harry's cell, he rose to his feet and looked at Harry.

"You?" Harry imagined ice-cold fingers closing around his throat. Every word hurt. "You?" Harry repeated, "I thought you were dead."

"Think again," Severus Snape said, an ugly grin marring his face. "Do I look like a dead man to you?"

Harry thought that yes, Snape did indeed resemble a corpse. His face was a skull covered with parchment, with black holes for eyes. Only the nose, more beaky than ever, gave his identity away.

"You look like Death himself," Harry said. Then he took in the rest of his appearance, the sparse beard, the sullied robes and the thin feet with nails like talons. "You make a great prison bird." Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Look how dirty you are."

Snape's voice was steel sheathed in velvet. "You can talk, Potter."

Unwilling to think about his own dirty robes, his filthy hair and the grime in his beard, Harry said, "Yes, I _can_ talk, just like you. So why didn't you? Why did you play the mute all that time?"

"Would you have collaborated had you known it was me?" When Harry didn't answer, Snape added, "There you are."

"Why, Snape? Why did you even go on with the digging after you had learned who it was on the other side?"

"It's good to know that some things never change," Snape said and began to move in Harry's direction. "You still believe you're special, don't you? Let me tell you something, Potter."

Snape stood very close now. His breath was hot against Harry's face. It smelled of cabbage and rotten fish. "You're as good as anyone. I'm a pragmatic. My expectations aren't high."

"What do you want?"

"Didn't I make myself clear?" Snape moved even closer. His beard tickled Harry's mouth, eliciting the most exquisite sensations, and, in a parody of intimacy, the tip of Snape's tongue burned a triangle on Harry's cheek. "You already agreed, or have you forgotten?"

"I didn't know it was _you_." Harry cringed at his own voice, high-pitched and jarring. He tried to push his tormentor away, but Snape, thin and strong like weed, stood his ground.

"In a situation like ours, what does it matter? Under a timeless sky, warded for all eternity, what do old grudges and petty prejudices mean? This is a place without future. Don't allow the past to deprive us of comfort and companionship."

Caressing and purring, Snape's voice was velvet seduction. And didn't he have a point? _Anything_ was better than nothing at all, and even a man like Snape, in all his ugliness, was preferable to the godforsaken loneliness Harry had lived in for so long. He succumbed to the magic of Snape's words, pressed back against his warm body, pushed his heavy cock between Snape's legs, and nearly came when a promising hardness rubbed across his belly. When Snape took him into his arms, whispering soothing nonsense into his ear, it hit Harry like a flash of lightning.

"No," he said. "No. Anyone else, yes. But Dumbledore's murderer - never." This time he managed to push Snape away.

Snape stood, arms hanging loose, a look of incredulity on his face. "Does that mean my name was never cleared?"

Harry shook his head. Snape had been dead, one of the many casualties of the war, and Harry had been glad: one Death Eater less on the run. Lucius had told him how Snape had been Voldemort's second in command. His account had made it seem as if Snape had truly been the Dark Lord, the driving force behind everything, and Harry had believed it all too willingly. Lucius had even claimed that Snape had forced him to give Tom Riddle's diary to Ginny Weasley in Harry's second year.

Of course, Lucius had turned out to be a traitor.

"I hoped that the Headmaster's Pensieve had been found, or that his portrait would have testified for me. Or McGonagall, Kingsley ..." Snape's voice trailed off. The velvet was gone. He sounded defeated.

Kingsley. Harry remembered an incident shortly before Kingsley had gone missing. He'd sent an Owl, asking for an interview. _I have important information that should be considered before the planning of the War Memorial goes any further, information about Snape's role in the war. There's proof, but I have to talk to you in person._

Lucius had promised to look into it. Then Ron, Hermione and the baby had been killed by the Carrows, and Harry had forgotten everything else. Lucius had been there to comfort him, had been a second father to him, always at his side. Lucius.

Hot rage shot through Harry. "I saw you there on the tower. I _saw_ you killing him."

"I freely admit that I spoke the final Avada Kedavra," Snape said. "However, I didn't kill the Headmaster. The curse on his ring had already succeeded in doing so. Albus Dumbledore was a dead man the moment he put it on his finger."

Harry remembered Dumbledore's blackened arm, shrivelled like that of a mummy. He remembered the cave. _Once and for all, Harry, do I have your word that you will do all in your power to make me keep drinking?_

"He made you do it," Harry said, and he was sure that his voice sounded just as defeated as Snape's just had.

Snape nodded, mute once more.

"Please, just leave me alone. I need some time on my own. We can talk later, all right?"

Snape nodded a second time and crawled back through the hole.

* * *

"Potter." Snape's voice came from the other side of the wall. Harry ignored it, just like he'd ignored it the last time and the time before that. Two meals had passed since their confrontation, and Harry longed to be able to count time in stones again.

"Potter."

He closed his eyes. Starry-eyed Draco refused to appear. After Harry had managed to drive an irate Ginny away, the hands of his lover took over his fantasy. More skilled than ever, they teased and coaxed, soothed and incited. Harry was on fire. His whole body ached for those hands to be real. From the shadows behind his eyelids a face emerged, beaky nose and greasy hair, and - wasn't that odd? - Harry didn't find it horrible at all. "Snape," he said, full of wonder.

"Snape."

There was a clatter of stones accompanied by a loud curse, and when Harry opened his eyes, he saw the face of his fantasy lover right before him. Real and distorted in anger, it was a horrible sight.

"Potter," Snape said, "is it asking too much of you to keep such a tiny space uncluttered?"

"Is it asking too much of you to keep my triumphal monument intact?" Harry looked at the collapsed pyramid. "By the way, I didn't invite you in."

"You called my name," Snape said. "And I see that you're in need ..." Kneeling down in front of the bunk bed and pushing the prison robes out of the way, he touched Harry's hand, the hand that was frozen around his stiff cock. "... in _dire_ need of my services." He lowered his head and took Harry's cock into his mouth.

"Mmm," Harry said, "mmm." He didn't know if he was trying to voice protest or approval. Snape's mouth was so good, so incredibly hot and skilled, and it had been so long. "Oh. Yes." So very long. Ginny had never done stuff like that - not that Harry had wanted her to - and Draco had never touched him. There had been a number of men, men he'd met at bars and clubs in Muggle London or in Knockturn's lowest dives, yet Harry didn't remember if they had ever been that ...

"Perfect."

He succumbed to the heat and forgot everything else. His hands involuntarily moved to the top of Snape's head, not minding the dirt and the grime, encouraging his lover to take him deeper, and deeper still, into oblivion. Leaving the prison cell behind, he soared up into an endless sky, flying high above the waves. Before him was a golden flutter, the Snitch. He stretched out his hand to grasp it, "Yes, so close, yes -"

The fantasy stopped abruptly. Harry was back in his cell at Azkaban, and his balls hurt. "Ouch," he said. "What the fuck was that for?"

Snape released his balls. "Selfish brat. Don't you dare come before me."

"Don't you trust me to return the favour?" Harry's hard-on had subsided. He was vexed. Leave it to Snape to be an annoying git even in an intimate situation. "You'll get your blow job. Come here." Maybe, if they tried really hard not to move too much, they could do some sixty-nining. Harry's prick liked the idea, but the bed squealed in protest when he shifted around to accommodate Snape.

Still kneeling amid the scattered stones, Snape looked irritable, the parchment of his face creased. "I don't want a blow job," he said. "I want a fuck, a long and satisfying fuck. Can you do that for me, Potter?"

"What? I ..." Harry breathed slowly in and out to prevent his voice from squeaking. "We don't even have lube."

"Oh," Snape said, and the lines of his face switched from irritable to diabolic. "How ever could I forget? It seems you have to give me a blow job first, after all. Natural lube may not be the best, but alas, it has to suffice."

"What?"

"I'm sure I made myself quite clear. Now up with you, and out of that bed. It's more comfortable when we switch places."

"For whom?" The rest of Harry's protest - _This is my cell. I won't allow you to order me around_ \- remained unspoken when Snape got up from the floor and, in a swift movement, shed his robes.

A skeleton covered in parchment, Snape's body matched his face. The sparse body hair couldn't conceal the many scars, but the Dark Mark, Harry noticed, had completely faded. While Snape's feet were black with dirt, the rest of him was astonishingly clean. His skin was fish-belly white, and his prick - Harry swallowed at the sight - his heavy, gorgeous prick was hard and red.

Harry scrambled off the bed. Any protest would've been stupid, he now realised. Their arrangement was for their mutual gratification, and if Snape wanted to be the one in charge, Harry was happy to oblige. Who would've thought that someone as ugly as Snape had such a beauty hidden under his robes?

"Stop gawping, Potter, and get to work."

Snape settled himself on the lower bunk, his legs spread wide. Harry knelt down between them and greeted the prick in front of him with a tentative swivel of his tongue. "Hello, Gorgeous." Wrapping his hands around the shaft, he stroked slowly up and down. "What do you want?"

Snape gave a drawn out sigh. "Your mouth, idiot, what do you think? Get on with it."

Without haste, Harry licked a long line from the balls to the head. "We have all the time in the world," he said, repeating the motion.

"Yes, indeed. I've been waiting more than seven years for a moment like this. I'm not inclined to wait a second longer. Now, Potter!"

Deciding to show mercy, Harry finally took the head into his mouth and sucked. Snape thanked him with a low moan. "Much better. Yes, exactly like that."

Snape's reaction fuelled Harry's own desire. He moved up and down on Snape's cock, stroking the lower part of the shaft with one hand while pumping his own cock with the other. "Mmm," he hummed around Snape's cock.

"Don't," Snape said, moaning. "Don't touch yourself. I still need your cock."

Harry had difficulty not to come from Snape's words alone. Reminding himself of the reality of Azkaban life, he managed to curb his excitement a bit. Snape was breathing heavily now, and his cock was growing even harder in Harry's mouth. Releasing it, Harry blew a stream of air across the head. He put a finger between his lips, wetted it thoroughly and circled Snape's balls. Then he made his way to Snape's hole. "Why don't you come and produce a nice amount of lube?" he said and once more swallowed Snape's cock.

"Don't tell me what to do, Potter." Snape's voice had lost its commanding tone, though. It was merely a whimper.

Harry wriggled his finger in Snape's hole. "Please," he said, and Snape came.

While Harry prepared Snape with his own semen - one finger, two fingers, scissoring, exactly like he'd seen the moving pictures in illegal magazines do it - he thought that it was probably too late now to tell his lover that he'd never done this before. He hoped it didn't show; he'd always been a hands-on learner. Making Snape a silent promise to compensate for his lack of expertise with intensity and dedication, he removed his fingers. Snape's hole twitched when he spread the last drops of come across it. Harry drooled into his hands and prepared himself.

"Don't dawdle." Snape was lying on his back, his feet holding on to the upper bunk, his arse high in the air. Aligning his salivated prick with Snape's hole, Harry thought that he was a grotesque sight.

"I need you inside me," Snape said, and Harry obeyed, slowly breaching the first ring of muscle with his cock. The bed squealed when Snape pushed back. "More, Potter," he said, and Harry thrust all the way home.

The feeling was amazing. Exactly as he had imagined and, yet, so very different. Hotter. Tighter. More intense. Real. Harry's hips started to move on their own volition. He moaned. Snape whimpered. The bed squealed.

"All right?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Idiot. Harder." Snape's whimpers reminded Harry of the agonised groans of a dying man, and his face, bizarrely distorted, seemed a mask of pain. Harry remembered the night Dumbledore died. He remembered Snape's flight from Hogwarts and all the times he'd fantasised about killing Snape. Fantasy Snape had looked exactly like that, pleading for mercy.

"Beg, Snape," Harry said. "Beg me to spare you." He was so very close now, the heat was burning him alive.

"Don't be silly, Potter," Snape said between whimpers. "Give it to me. Give me everything you have. I can take it. And more." He laughed. "So much more."

Harry looked down at the ugly face, and a jumble of emotions boiled up inside him. Hatred, love, anger, joy, sorrow, passion - all at once, they shot through him like a bolt of wild magic. In his whole life, he'd never felt a connection like this, and, for a second, the chains that bound him - Draco, Lucius, Ginny, the perverse nature of his desires - everything dissolved into thin air. Howling his triumph to the prison stones, he came. The bed gave a last tormented squeal when Harry collapsed on top of Snape. Silence.

"You didn't come," Harry said afterwards, stroking Snape's half-hard prick. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up, Potter."

* * *

"Why does pleasure look so much like pain?" Harry said. He was lying with his back against the wall, spooned behind Snape, his flaccid cock still inside his partner. He loved these quiet moments after they had fucked, when he could still feel the connection, and magic was more than a distant memory. One day, he would stretch out his hand, and it would come back to him, right through the wards and the walls. In bed with Snape, he could nearly believe it.

"Do you know what the French call orgasm?" Snape said. "La petite mort. The little death."

"I don't want to die." Harry's cock slipped free when Snape sat up. The damp and the cold hit him with double force, and he grabbed for Snape's blanket.

"Don't," Snape said, getting up. The bed didn't make a sound; they had stabilised it with Harry's triumphal stones. "It's time to have a wash." He pulled away the blanket, and Harry shivered.

Since they had begun to share their water rations, Harry's hygiene had improved. While they used Harry's ration for drinking, the water in Snape's bucket was enough for both of them to wash thoroughly. Harry took the wet cloth Snape handed him and rubbed his face.

"I can't help wondering why you did it," he said, pointing at the hole in the wall. "I mean, the benefits of our arrangement are more than obvious, of course." He scratched his head. "And don't think I'm not grateful and all that," he hastily added, blushing.

"It's just that you don't strike me as the social type. I always thought you'd be more comfortable on your own."

"You still don't see me as human, do you, Potter?" If Snape was angry, he didn't show it. His face remained expressionless as he cleaned his body.

"And if I had an ulterior motive," he said slowly, as if to himself, "why would I confide in you?"

Harry looked up then, but Snape shook his head, his eyebrow slightly raised. "Tell me again, why are you here?" he said.

"Nothing has changed since the last time you asked," Harry said, annoyed. "I don't fucking know."

Slipping back into his robes, Snape watched Harry clean his privates. "Lucius attacked you in your sleep, bound you with chains that restrained your magic, Transfigured your pyjamas into prison robes and then brought you here with Goyle's help?"

Harry nodded. "He was keyed to the Grimmauld wards, so it wasn't a problem," he said bitterly. He could still feel the cold of the chains creeping through his body, replacing the fire of his magic with ice. He could still feel Lucius's hand on his head, ruffling his hair for the very last time. _I'm sorry, Harry, truly sorry, but you leave me no other choice._

"He said he was sorry," Harry said. "He said he was sorry and that it was all my fault." He kicked the water bucket, knocking it over. "Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck." Clutching his aching toe, he watched the water run in rivulets on the floor. "Fuck."

Snape was at his side, wrapping a blanket around him. "Shhh," he said. "Shhh. I know what an infuriating bastard Lucius is. His apologies are even more poisonous than his crimes."

For a short while, Harry wallowed in the unexpected sympathy, taking comfort in Snape's touch. Then he freed himself and donned his robes. "Why do you ask the same question over and over again? I can't see how it still matters."

"I want to understand his motives." Snape stared at him with such intensity that it made Harry wonder if it was possible to do Legilimency inside the Azkaban wards. "Why did he do it? It makes no sense."

"He wanted to become Minister." Harry shrugged. "Makes all the sense in the world to me."

Snape shook his head. "Wasn't he already your second in command?"

"He was Vice Minister for Magic, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Special Emissary for the Integration of Muggle-borns."

"Now that's what I call putting the fox in charge of the henhouse." Snape gave a short, derisive laugh.

"He had some really great ideas," Harry said. "He instituted a godparent system. Each Muggle-born child is now assigned to a magic godmother or -father. He founded wizarding kindergartens and primary schools. He promised that a child would never again have to suffer from the same neglect and maltreatment that I had endured at the Dursleys'."

 _He was like a father to me._ Harry looked down at his feet. "Yeah, I suppose I really am the dunderhead you always said I was. Are you happy now?" He raised his head and met Snape's inquisitive stare. "After I killed Voldemort, I was badly hurt and drained of my magic. Lucius could have easily let me die in the burning Shack, and the Death Eaters might have still won the war. He decided to save me instead. How could I not have trusted him?"

Snape smirked. "Saint Malfoy. How amusing. The halo goes well with the hair." He heaved himself up onto the upper bunk of the bed. "I don't understand it. With you as figurehead, Lucius's position was secure. Why would he jeopardise it just for a title? I _know_ him; his greed for power exceeds even his vanity." With his legs crossed, the bony knees visible under his robes, Snape resembled a fakir, and Harry wondered if he'd start levitating any moment. Instead, Snape scratched his beard.

"Tell me, Potter, did you quarrel? Was there a disagreement between you, something you refused to do? Did you in any way threaten his position?"

"No. Never." Harry pushed his big toe into one of the rivulets on the floor. "I hated being Minister," he said. "I only accepted the job because Lucius urged me to."

 _The wizarding world needs you. We need someone as pure and loving as you to remind us of our own goodness._ I _need you, Harry._ "He promised to do whatever he could to help me, and I trusted him completely."

There was silence for a while. Harry drew furious zigzag lines with his toe. When he looked up again, he saw Snape raising a finger as if about to speak.

"No," Harry said. "No more questions from you. It's my turn now. So tell me, Snape, why are _you_ here?"

The stones that held the bed in place shook and rattled as Snape rose to his full height. He loomed over Harry like an avenging angel, and his voice boomed. "I am the thorn in the side of Lucius's sainthood. I am the spanner in his works."

Tilting his head, he wiped the spittle from his mouth. " _I_ am the one who saved your life, Potter. That's why I'm here."

"What?" Harry had to take hold of the bed frame to keep himself upright. His legs wobbled like jelly.

"You don't believe me?"

"I ... I don't know what to think."

"You believed _him_ , of course."

Snape reached for the window bars, but then he paused for a moment, turned back and sneered at Harry. "Did you never wonder why the Death Eater who Apparated you to safety didn't allow you to see his face? Why he stopped your hands when you grabbed for his mask?"

"Why?" Harry couldn't hear his own voice. He cleared his throat and repeated the question.

"I was afraid of your reaction. I didn't trust you not to scream blue murder the moment you saw who had saved you."

Harry lowered his head. "I probably would have tried to kill you."

"Yes, Potter. I know." Snape climbed the window. He'd found a way to sit on the wide sill, his legs dangling outside. Harry had to strain to hear him.

"I couldn't Apparate too far; we were both still needed in the battle. I planned to take you to the infirmary, notify Kingsley of the Dark Lord's demise and help the Order to round up the remaining Death Eaters. So I Apparated us to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Stealth was of the utmost importance. When you asked who I was and tried to unmask me, I ..."

"You captured my hand and put it on my lips."

"... gestured you to be silent and to stay where you were. Then I went to see if the coast was clear. Lucius's Stunner hit me in the back almost immediately. I failed."

Shaking his head over and over again, Harry slid to the floor.

* * *

"Snape."

"Shut up, Potter."

"Snape."

There was no answer. Snape was still sitting on the window sill, clinging to the bars like the caged animal he was. All Harry could see was his back, grey against the grey wards, rigid. "Why don't you come down? We could ... you know, comfort each other." Heat crept up his cheeks, and Harry choked back the lump in his throat. That simply wouldn't do.

"Listen, Snape," he started anew, "I want to thank you. Saving my life, that was ... pretty amazing of you." Harry winced. He sounded exactly like the idiot Snape believed him to be. No wonder he ignored him.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I really mean it."

From the direction of the window came a long sigh. "Potter, can't you be quiet for a minute?"

Harry sighed back. How typical of Snape, he thought. He wasn't the social type, after all. If he wanted to be left alone, though, why didn't he return to his own cell?

The silence stretched and stretched. The water on the floor had drenched Harry's robes, and he was cold and dirty. Biting his lips to keep the swear words down, he got back on his feet. Merlin only knew how long it would take for his robes to dry in the damp Azkaban climate. Had there really been such a thing as magic once, a power that allowed him to get warm, clean and comfortable with a simple swish and flick? The memory of his wand brought tears to his eyes.

"Damn it, Snape," he said. "What are you doing up there? The wards won't change, whether you watch them or not."

"I'm not watching the wards," Snape said. "I'm paying my respects to a comrade being released to freedom."

"You mean, he died?"

"That's the only way, Potter." Snape's voice was barely audible.

"Do you want to die?" Harry asked, equally quiet.

Without another word, Snape slid down to the floor and left through the hole in the wall. The all-encompassing sadness that was always there, just below the surface, threatened to burst free. Harry shook his head to hold it at bay and climbed up to the window. Outside, a black gondola was returning to the berth at the foot of the tower. There was no sign of the dead man; the bier must have already breached the wards.

"Good luck, mate," Harry said.

"Good luck on your next adventure."

* * *

"Here," Snape said, thrusting a small bundle at Harry. "Does that answer your question?"

Huddled deep under the blanket, Harry was still freezing. "What is it?" he said, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

"You asked if I wanted to die. See for yourself."

The object Snape handed him was wrapped in faded green velvet. Harry stroked the fine material with reverent fingers, careful not to sully it with prison grime. Below the smooth surface, he could feel something hard and pointed. His whole body shook from the cold as he sat up to unwrap the bundle. When he finally saw what it was, his shaking became uncontrollable. The bundle slipped from his fingers and landed on the blanket. There, before Harry, in the middle of a pool of green velvet, lay something that was at the same time so beautiful and so terrible that it took his breath away. Sparkling with emeralds and diamonds, the silver dagger was as much a precious piece of jewellery as a deadly weapon. Its sinister promise of freedom compelled Harry to run a finger along the blade to test it for sharpness. When he retrieved his finger, it was adorned with a droplet of blood. Harry stared at it with unseeing eyes.

"Lucius gave it to me the day he brought me here."

Snape's words roused Harry from his state of shock. "What?" he asked. "Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Snape's smirk had never been uglier. He leant in so close that his breath ghosted over Harry's face like caressing fingers. His voice was a dangerous whisper.

"He said he liked the idea of something of him inside me for the very last time."

"You and he?" Harry gasped. It was incredible. Lucius had always seemed to be a model husband and father, loving and caring for his family. So that had been a lie, too. "Did you love him?" he asked, still not believing what he had heard.

"I wouldn't call it love, exactly," Snape said. "When I was a student, I worshipped the ground he walked on. I'd have done anything for him. Being deemed worthy of having his prick up my arse was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. Or so I thought." He snorted. Harry folded his arms to stop himself from shaking. "When he sold me to a sadistic madman to further his own ambitions for power, I made a promise to myself that one day he'd be on his knees, begging for his life."

Snape's face was taut, almost ethereal, and his eyes burnt feverishly. He reminded Harry of a martyr saint in the midst of a vision. Harry took Snape's hand in his, making a silent vow to take revenge on Lucius. His eye fell on the dagger once more. Yet, it would be so easy, Harry thought. A short moment of pain, and he'd be forever free of these walls and wards.

"Have you ever been tempted to use it?" he asked.

Snape shook his head. "There's something like magic to it," he said. "Whenever despair threatens to weaken me, I take the dagger out of its hiding place and hold it. It gives me strength, as if it's whispering to me and telling me not to give up."

He looked at Harry with an air of challenge. "Do you think I've gone mad, Potter?"

"You're much saner than I am," Harry said, squeezing Snape's hand. "And you're very brave." He stretched out his hand and touched the dagger. After a long while, he took it.

"I won't give up," he said, raising it to the wards outside. "I won't die."

Harry's teeth were still shattering, and the dagger shook in his hands. Then Snape wrapped his arms around him, and Harry stopped shaking. Snape interlaced their fingers on the handle. "We won't die," he said, and it was as if he'd uttered a spell. Harry could feel warmth spreading through his body. He believed Snape.

"We won't die," he repeated. His voice was steady.

"Now get out of those wet robes, idiot," Snape said, breaking the mood. "Believe me, Potter, getting a cold isn't the best survival strategy."

Harry put the dagger back on the bed and obeyed. Much later, when they moved under the blanket to share their warmth, it fell to the floor, forgotten for the moment.

* * *

"Did Lucius know you were gay?" Snape asked, panting.

"I'll thank you not to talk about Lucius when you're in bed with _me_ ," Harry said through gritted teeth, intensifying his thrusts. Ever since he'd learned of Snape's past, he was obsessed by the desire to erase Snape's memory of Lucius and prove that he, Harry Potter, was the better lover by far.

"Don't touch yourself," he said, gripping Snape's arm. "I want you to come on my cock alone."

"Impressive, Potter." Between stuttered moans, Snape's words were barely intelligible. "Very impressive indeed. Who would have thought you had it in you?"

"Don't forget what you've got _in you_ ," Harry said, slightly changing the angle. Sweat was running down his face, and he had to close his eyes to keep them from burning. His hands were busy restraining Snape's arms.

Snape's answer wasn't coherent anymore, and he came with a strangled whimper. After a few more quick thrusts, Harry followed, biting Snape's shoulder as his body shuddered helplessly.

Harry wanted nothing more than to fall asleep immediately, but Snape, always practical, didn't allow it. He reached for the water bucket, took the cloth and wrung it out with his hands. After rubbing the come from his belly, he turned around and cleaned Harry's sensitive cock. The ice-cold water and rough fabric jerked Harry out of a pleasant drowsiness and forced him back to the reality of his cell. Snape's next words were even more sobering.

"Did Lucius know you were gay?" he asked once more.

"What the hell does it matter?" Harry's voice shook with anger. "Does it turn you on, talking about your old lover? When I fuck you, do you think of him?"

"Potter," Snape said, his voice a sardonic reminder of his times as a teacher. "Stop being so dense. I'm merely attempting to confirm or disprove a hypothesis."

"What hypothesis?"

"I believe the reason why Lucius brought you here is because he found out about your secret sex life."

"Sounds like a Prophet headline." At that moment, Harry hated Snape. Why couldn't he just shut up and leave Harry to his dreams of freedom and magic? He pulled up the blanket and cuddled demonstratively against Snape's bony form.

"It's stupid anyway," he said with a yawn. "He is, after all, gay himself."

"I wouldn't call him that," Snape said. "Lucius is a narcissist, and obsessed with power. He used to fuck everyone who adored his beauty. As long as his paramour was useful, he didn't care if it was a witch, a wizard, or a Flobberworm."

"Yuck," Harry said. "I still don't understand what my sex life has to do with anything."

"Think, Potter." Snape touched Harry's forehead. The gesture was surprisingly gentle, nearly affectionate.

"What would have happened if you had been outed as gay?"

"Dunno," Harry said, leaning into Snape's caressing fingers. "Nothing, I suppose. The wizarding world loves me; people would've accepted it."

Snape's hand stilled. "Your arrogance is second only to your foolishness," he said. Despite the harsh words, his voice was soft.

"It would have been the worst scandal in wizarding history. Homosexuality is regarded as the most dangerous threat to our world, more dangerous even than inbreeding or blood treason."

"That doesn't make sense," Harry said. "Those who warn against inbreeding denounce terms like blood treason and welcome Muggle-borns with open arms, and the members of the Pureblood faction close their eyes to the dangers of inbreeding."

"Precisely. One-hundred points to Gryffindor."

Snape traced a triangle on Harry's head with his finger. "As much as opinions differ within the wizarding world, there's one thing each and every _respectable_ member of our society has in common: fear and loathing of homosexuality. They hold it accountable for the declining birth rate. After all, aren't the children our future, our only hope of survival?"

Snape sounded more sardonic than ever, and his finger became entangled in the knots of Harry's hair. "A gay sex scandal means certain downfall, even for the saviour of the wizarding world, and your downfall would have been the end of Lucius's power. He couldn't allow you to imperil his position."

"But," Harry said, scratching the back of his head where Snape had pulled his hair, "Lucius didn't know."

"Really? You are no stranger to wizarding gay subculture," Snape said, tracing the triangle again.

"What makes you so sure that you weren't seen? That there wasn't a blackmail attempt? That Rita Skeeter hadn't already drafted the most sensational story of her career?"

"No way." Harry vigorously shook his head. "I'm really good at glamours. Trust me, no one ever recognised me."

Snape watched Harry for a moment. Then he nodded. "Did you tell anybody?"

"No. Yes. I mean, I had to tell Ginny, of course. She had the right to know why our relationship didn't work out."

There was a long silence. Snape stroked Harry's shoulder. "Stupid, idiot boy," he finally said, and it sounded like a term of endearment.

"How did she react?"

"She was furious." _Pervert! Filthy, disgusting pervert!_ "She threw me out. She forbade me ever to come near her or her family again."

"Do you think she told them about you?"

"Dunno." Harry shrugged. "Mr and Mrs Weasley were awfully nice to me after the break-up. They said their love for me would never change, that I'd always be their honorary son, and they repeatedly invited me to the Burrow. I didn't go, of course."

"Of course."

Harry closed his eyes. It was odd, he thought, how little Ginny's disapproval mattered to him now. Yet it was even odder to think how much it had mattered in the past. Why had he given her venom so much power over him? Why had he almost believed her?

He snuggled deeper under the blanket, relishing the feeling of Snape's body pressed against his. That he had made peace with his sexuality in a damp prison cell, and with Snape of all people, that was the oddest thing of all.

He must have fallen asleep because, when Snape shook his shoulder, he jolted awake. "What happened next?" Snape asked impatiently.

"Next?"

"After you and Miss Weasley parted ways, did anything unusual happen?"

"No. The Prophet and Witch Weekly had field days, of course. To tell you the truth, it was more like several field months, but, thankfully, they focused on the search for my _new love_ and left Ginny, by and large, alone. They organised all kind of beauty competitions, and I had to meet a lot of boring witches as a result. Lucius actually liked the development. He said it was good for my image."

"You call that nothing unusual, Potter?" Snape sounded weary.

"It wasn't," Harry said. "The press was after me all the time. They were completely in the dark about the real reason for the break-up, believe me. I can't even imagine their reaction had they found out."

"I'm sure," Snape said. "Was there anything else? Anyone? A new love maybe, or a friend you thought you could trust?"

 _Draco_ , Harry thought, and the truth hit him like a dagger in the heart. "It was Draco," he said. "He must have let it slip to Lucius."

"Draco Malfoy knew?"

"Well ... he and I ... he was my ..." Harry fell silent. What had they actually been to each other? Draco had never touched him. They hadn't shared so much as a kiss.

"Out with it," Snape said, shaking Harry's shoulder. "What do you want to say? That you had an affair with Draco?" There was a tone of incredulity in his voice that Harry hated.

"It wasn't an affair," he said defiantly. "We were in love."

"Don't play me for a fool, Potter."

Snape's fingers dug into Harry's shoulder like the jaws of a steel trap. "Draco Malfoy is incapable of love, and he's the wizarding world's greatest homophobe. I know what I'm talking about. In his second year at Hogwarts, he caught Lucius and me in flagrante delicto in my office after a Quidditch match. He had a horrible temper tantrum, and he tried to blackmail me afterwards. I had to tell his father, of course. Lucius's punishment must have been severe. Draco never forgave me for it. He took it out on every single homosexual student in Slytherin. Bullstrode and Zabini were his favourite victims. Trust me, Potter, he made their life hell."

"I never noticed," Harry whispered. The dagger in his heart twisted. Ice spread through his veins and into every capillary, leaving him numb and freezing. The worst thing was that he believed every word Snape had said.

"That's Slytherin House for you," Snape said. "We always show a united front to the rest of the world, even as we're destroying each other." His grip loosened and turned into a caress.

"I'll never understand it." Harry burrowed deeper into Snape's embrace. He needed every bit of warmth he could get.

"I didn't start the whole thing," he said. "He came to me. Why? Why did he tell me he loved me?"

Snape pulled Harry closer. "Most probably it was his idea of having fun," he said. "It's also possible that he acted on his father's orders. After you called it off with Miss Weasley, Lucius might have suspected something. It's just like him to subject you to a test."

Snape's voice was as soothing as his caresses, and Harry didn't listen to the words anymore. He fell asleep to a whispered promise, "Revenge."

* * *

With his back hunched and his knees bowed, Snape resembled a giant question mark. He stood next to the hole in the wall, and his hands twitched as if he were struggling with himself. Harry didn't know how long he'd been standing there like that; he hadn't moved since Harry had opened his eyes. When Harry raised his head to ask what was going on, Snape immediately straightened.

"Potter," he said, "do you remember our conversation about my motives for digging that hole?"

"Sure." Harry scrambled off the bed to take a pee and nearly dropped the plank when he heard Snape's next words.

"I've been trying to dig my way out, to freedom."

"How?" Harry leant the plank against the wall and relieved himself into the pit.

"It's impossible to dig a hole through the wards. The thought alone is ridiculous," he said, putting the plank back in place, "and it was the wrong direction anyway." He pointed at the window that was far from the tunnel in the adjacent wall.

Snape nodded. "Fortunately, yes," he said, "but I didn't know that then. May I invite you to come and see my cell?" He gestured for Harry to climb through the hole.

Ever since Snape had become his lover, they'd spent their time together in Harry's cell. Snape had been back to his own cell to fetch food and water and to return the empty containers for the guards to swap, of course, but he'd never been gone for long, not even that time when he'd left after watching the funeral bier. He'd returned with the dagger soon afterwards. Harry suddenly wondered why. Snape seemed to set such a high value on his privacy, yet he'd never sought solitude. He would only ever climb the window and bark at Harry to shut up. "After you, please," he now said, his raised eyebrow leaving no room for questions.

The tunnel stretched longer than Harry had expected, and there were several large and protruding stones that were difficult to pass. He repeatedly hit his head. Having finally reached the other side, the first thing he noticed was the different colour of the surroundings. He'd left behind the diffuse grey of the wards; Snape's cell was bathed in dirty yellow light that flickered on and off. The reason for this became clear as soon as Harry stepped inside. The circular room, so small that Harry could touch opposite sides of the wall with his outstretched hands, was completely windowless. A small iron cage was the only light source. It dangled from the ceiling on a rusty chain and harboured a fairy, the sorriest individual of its species Harry had ever seen. Partly hidden behind sagging and grimy wings, it nibbled on a withered cabbage leaf and produced a string of farts. Every time another cloud of stink erupted, the feeble light that emanated from its body flickered.

"Welcome to my modest little home," Snape said, climbing out of the tunnel behind Harry.

"Yuck," Harry said, but then his eye fell on a heap of straw that had to be Snape's bed. The wall above it was covered with rows and rows of lines, scratched into the stone.

"Is this what I think it is?" he said in awe. "Do you know what day it is? How long have we been here?"

Snape went to kneel on the straw and began to trace the lines with his finger. "More than one year after the final battle, Lucius brought me here from the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. It was the 23rd of September, 1999."

Harry swallowed. Around that time he'd begun to plan the prison reform, delegating everything to Lucius. "Today's the 11th of May ..." Snape paused for what Harry thought was cheap effect, "... 2007"

"Bloody hell, that's nearly three years."

"Do you remember the exact date?" Snape asked.

"June 18th, 2004," Harry said, holding his nose as a fairy stink cloud erupted.

"It figures," Snape said into the darkness. "That was when I last saw Lucius."

"What?" Harry asked, dumbfounded. "He paid you a visit?"

When the light came on again, Snape was still kneeling with his back to Harry, tracing lines. "I started with the tunnel the following day. It took me nearly one and a half years to find out that I had chosen the wrong part of the wall. On February 7th, 2006, I heard you for the first time."

"Why did you carry on?" Harry said, kneeling down on the straw next to Snape.

"I already had spent too much energy on the tunnel to simply give up, and so I changed my plan."

Snape ignored Harry's inquiring looks and continued before Harry could ask another question. "I found out it was you when we shook hands on April 29th, and on the 3rd of October 2006, the tunnel was completed."

"Wow," Harry said. He could see the dates on the wall, scratched in a neat column next to the calendar lines, together with other dates that had no meaning to Harry - Snape's triumphal stones.

The actual stones from the tunnel were piled up against the wall and added to the claustrophobic atmosphere of the cell. "How do you do it?" Harry asked. In the beginning, Harry, too, had made an effort to keep a calendar, but after some time he hadn't even been sure anymore if the meals were delivered on a regular basis. "How can you tell that a day has passed?"

"Bowel movement," Snape said. "It's as reliable as clockwork." He quirked a corner of his mouth to a challenging not-quite-smile and, all of a sudden, Harry had the urgent desire to hug him.

* * *

Much later, Harry brushed straw off his skin, donned his robes and crawled through the tunnel to fetch a wet cloth for Snape. When he was finally cuddled against his lover, he asked the question that had been on his mind before Snape had distracted him. "What was your plan to break through the wards?"

"To die."

"What? But you said you didn't ..." Harry shook his head. He must have misheard.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Potter," Snape said, bursting out laughing. "I told you I don't want to die, and I mean it."

He laughed so hard his face turned red. His entire body was shaking with convulsions, and tears were running down his cheeks. Frozen with shock and disbelief, Harry couldn't stop staring. If even Snape went mad in the end, all hope was lost.

Pulling himself together, Harry got Snape some water from his cell, and the fit finally ceased. "I apologise," Snape said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "That was completely uncalled for."

"It's all right." Harry wrapped his arms around Snape and stroked the bony shoulders. "It's all right. You needn't have a plan. Together we can think of something, I'm sure."

"I _have_ a plan, Potter."

Snape slipped out of Harry's arms and stood, becoming his old, imperious self. He turned away from Harry and to the wall, all the while talking in a low voice, as if to himself. "When Lucius last visited, he gave me a gift. It's a terrible gift, of course, and the idea behind it is just as cruel, malicious and twisted as the giver himself. Nevertheless, it's not without potential."

Snape loosened a stone, took something out of the wall and carefully set it down on the straw in front of Harry. It was a small wooden box, carved with a pattern of skulls and snakes.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"It's a set of two potions I once created for the Dark Lord. One is a powerful poison. When ingested, it kills within seconds, yet it preserves the drinker's body for eternity." Snape traced the carving of a snake with his finger, looking proud.

"The other," he continued, "is the antidote. It resurrects the victim exactly one hour after a single drop has been applied to the tongue, irrespective of how much time has passed since the ingestion of the original potion. It can be used mere minutes afterwards, years, or even decades later."

"Are you ... are you sure it works?" Harry's mouth was dry, and he could barely swallow.

"The Dark Lord ordered a series of tests," Snape said. "He was very interested in the subjects' impressions of death."

"What does it feel like?" Harry asked, licking his cracked lips.

"The test subjects didn't have answers to the Dark Lord's questions. Death seems to be a great nothing, oblivion."

Snape shrugged. "The potions worked perfectly, though."

"So what was your plan?" Harry reached for the water bucket and took a greedy drink. "You couldn't very well administer the antidote to yourself."

"Lucius suggested I bribe a guard and even gave me Galleons to do so."

"That would've been your certain death," Harry said. Despite everything Snape had told him, Lucius was still an enigma to him. "Why all the fuss? Couldn't he simply have killed you?"

"Lucius enjoys his games. Maybe a bit too much," Snape said, a grim smile on his lips. "Besides, he owes me a wizard's debt. I saved Draco's life that night on the tower. I suppose that's also the reason why he spared your life. Didn't you save the little shit, too?"

Harry nodded miserably. Having allowed Draco to hide in the Room of Requirement during the final battle was something he now bitterly regretted. As if sensing his foul mood, the fairy let out a formidable fart. A horrible stench filled the cell, and the light went out. Harry fled into the tunnel. From the other side, he could hear the creaking sounds of a key being inserted into a lock. Fuck, he thought, fuckfuckfuck.

He scrambled through the tunnel, dove into his cell and barely managed to push his empty bowl and the water bucket within the grasp of the guards before they closed the hatch again. "Changed your mind, _Minister_?" one of them taunted. "And here I thought you were on hunger strike again." The guards laughed, but Harry was already back in the tunnel, carrying Snape's bowl.

After the guards delivered Snape's meal, Harry took a huge cabbage leaf from his soup and gave it to the fairy. "Thanks for the alert," he said. The fairy grabbed it with tiny fingers, flickerfarting excitedly. When the light was steady again, Harry eyed the food. The fish was more rotten than ever, and the water bucket only half full.

"Can you tell me about your plan now, please?" he said, incapable of keeping anger and despair at bay. "I fucking need a distraction, and hope."

* * *

Snape distracted Harry with his body and gave him hope in his arms. They were lying under the blanket in Harry's cell, their bodies still joined, when Snape finally spoke. "My original plan was to dig a hole to the outside, steal a gondola and row close to the wards. Then I was planning to drink the poison and antidote together and, hopefully, drift through the wards as a dead man, to be resurrected again in freedom."

"Do you think it would've worked?" Harry asked, licking a droplet of sweat from Snape's shoulder.

"I can't say. The basic flaw in the plan was that it relied on the simultaneous ingestion of the potions. I have no idea what would've happened."

"We can still do it then," Harry said. "We'll dig the tunnel, steal the gondola, you'll drink the poison and I'll row you to the wards and give you the antidote. Bye bye Azkaban." Harry was so excited that his cock slipped free.

"It would take us approximately one year to dig that hole," Snape said.

"That's all right," Harry said. "In comparison with eternity, it's a very short time."

"To climb the tower again would take you hours," Snape said. "There's no doubt the guards would see you. They're lax in their duty, true, but they still make their rounds."

"What will it matter? You'll be free and, as soon as you inform the Weasleys and the press, I'll be free, too." Harry's cock rubbed against Snape's crack, taking a renewed interest.

"There would be an investigation. The guards would search your cell, find the tunnel to my cell and discover my disappearance. They'd promptly alert the Ministry, and the Aurors would find my body before the antidote would've even had time to work."

Snape paused for a moment, pushing his arse against Harry's half-hard cock. "Enough of all these woulds," he said and turned to face Harry. "I have a much better plan."

Snape's eyes glittered, and he had that visionary look again. "When a prisoner dies, the guards prepare him for his last journey in his cell. Then they leave him alone to get the gondola ready. It takes them some time to return. Enough time to administer the antidote." Snape took Harry's hand and squeezed it. His hard prick poked Harry's leg insistently. "Do you understand, Potter?"

"How do you know about the guards?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"When I first came here, the Dementors were still around." Harry felt Snape tremble in his arms. He pressed closer to him. "The guards suffered as much as the prisoners from constant melancholy and hopelessness. They were barely able to do their job. When they heard I was a Potions Master, they ordered me to embalm the corpses."

"Embalm?"

"There's not much to it. A cheap cleansing potion and bandages, that's all. Don't worry, your skin won't come off." He kissed the inside of Harry's elbow.

"Your beautiful, soft skin."

" _My_ skin?"

Snape's lips were hot and determined. Harry shivered as they reached a nipple, and it wasn't from the cold.

"Of course _your_ skin, Potter. Don't play the fool," Snape said between licks and bites.

"Your chances to get me out of here are infinitely higher than my hopes of freeing you. I don't think that anyone would believe me, not even the Weasleys. I am, after all ..." His teeth sank into Harry's nipple. "... Dumbledore's murderer."

Harry writhed under Snape's rough caress. "You aren't Dumbledore's murderer," he said, turning them both around so that he was on top. "You aren't."

"Then free me, so I can prove it," Snape ordered.

Harry wrapped his hand around Snape's prick, and Snape reciprocated. They were both panting now.

"I won't be able to swim," Harry said. "The bandages will constrain me. I'll drown." He moaned helplessly as Snape brought both their hands together and their cocks slid against each other.

"I'll put the knife into your hands," Snape said. "It's magic. It'll cut through the bandages like butter." Moving up on the bed, Snape raised his legs over Harry's shoulders. Harry obeyed the unspoken command. Snape's hole was still stretched, and he slid inside effortlessly.

"Will you do it?" Snape asked. "Will you save me, Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Harry said, starting to thrust. "Yes, I will."

"Then fuck me, Potter. Fuck me as if it were the last time, and then ..." Snape took Harry's head in his hands and looked deep into his eyes, "... promise it won't be."

Harry could feel the connection. He could see magic in Snape's eyes, and he knew it was waiting for him, right outside the walls and the wards. Soon, he'd be free.

"The next time we meet," he said, "we'll make love." Then he sealed his promise with a kiss.

* * *

Exactly a fortnight after Potter ingested the poison, the guards opened his cell to check on the prisoner. In those two weeks, Severus had barely slept. He'd crouched in the tunnel with the outermost layer of stones back in place, watching the prone form on the bed through a tiny gap. He'd left his observation post only to eat, to relieve himself and to add a new scratch to his calendar, day after day after day. The long and painful period of waiting had finally come to an end.

Severus was kneeling in front of the bunk bed. The corpse, wrapped from head to toe in white bandages, seemed alien to him. It wasn't human anymore, no longer Harry Potter, the man Severus had known, but a soulless puppet, a thing for him to manipulate. Severus looked at the dagger in his hand and at the wooden box that held the secret of death and resurrection. With the tip of the dagger, he followed the coils of a snake filling empty eye sockets with new life.

 _Snakes coiled through empty eye sockets in endless figure eights, promising eternity. Severus looked up from the box he knew so well and met the eyes of his visitor._

 _"I thank you for another thoughtful gift, Lucius," he said. "It's flattering to know that you still think of me, after all that time."_

 _"How could I ever forget you, my friend. My memories of you are fond ..." Lucius circled Severus's crotch with the handle of his cane. "... very fond indeed. It's a pity your hygiene these days is even worse. I'd have loved to refresh our acquaintance."_

 _The snake head slipped between Severus's legs, lifting his robes and pushing them insistently against his hole. Severus clenched his teeth. For ages, no one had touched him there, and the rough fabric rubbing across his skin, entering him just a little bit, caused the most incredible sensations._

 _"Tempter," Severus said, careful to lace his voice with sufficient sarcasm; Lucius could be very dense. Lucius withdrew his cane, the trace of a pout on his cruel lips, and Severus turned away to set the box on the straw. His eye fell on the calendar lines: 1,730 days of Azkaban. Lucius was indeed a tempter, but Severus wouldn't allow himself to fall for him again._

 _"I value my life, wretched as it is, too much to risk it in one of your little games," he said._

 _"Severus, Severus," Lucius said, his eyes cold as steel, "you disappoint me."_

 _He took a pouch out of his robes and threw it at Severus's feet. "Thirty Galleons should be more than enough to secure the loyalty of one of the guards."_

 _When Severus didn't deem this worthy of an answer, Lucius stepped closer. "I'll tell you a secret," he whispered into Severus's ear, careful to avoid skin contact. "Your precious Harry Potter is in trouble, in deep deep trouble."_

 _Severus raised an eyebrow to show how little he cared. And it was true, he realised. If the imbecile couldn't take care of himself after surviving the war with Severus's help, he wasn't worth another thought. Severus had done everything possible to save him and was currently suffering the consequences. Potter be damned!_

 _White robes billowed as Lucius turned in the doorway. "Should something happen to Potter, you'll be a free man, you have my word," he said with an angelic smile. "Who knows how long it'll take him to kick the bucket. In the meantime, why don't you take a chance?"_

 _He pointed his cane at the box and the pouch of Galleons. "Or do you really want to sit back and wait for Potter to die?"_

Severus worked with precision. Unwrapping Potter's chest first, he placed the dagger between his clasped hands. He didn't take the time to marvel at the beauty of fingers with bitten nails, fingers that had touched him in so many ways. He couldn't afford to make a mistake. He pulled the bandages closed, tight and secure.

Potter's face was peaceful. Dark shadows adorned his eyes, and he didn't look as if he were sleeping. A sleeping Potter was a nuisance, drooling and breathing with his mouth open. Potter's mouth was closed now. Severus didn't follow the lips with his finger, didn't remember their taste. He had a job to do, he reminded himself, and he mustn't linger. The box opened with a soft and reassuring click. The small vial warmed in his hand. Severus opened Potter's mouth, prying the jaws apart with brutal force. His hand shook as he unstoppered the vial. One drop of the antidote was sufficient; a second would do no harm. Potter's mouth snapped shut like that of an automaton.

Severus pressed a kiss to his lips. "You'll live," he said. "Do you hear me, Harry? You'll live." He didn't have time to spare. He rearranged the bandages around Potter's head, tight and secure.

Severus had scarcely returned to the tunnel and put the stones back in place when he heard the creaking sounds of a key being inserted into a lock.

* * *

Azkaban was a black hole in the North Sea. Those forced to enter the prison wards were well advised to abandon all hope. A merciless sky of molten silver chained them to the small island and a few square feet of water surrounding it. No living soul ever escaped.

A dark tower reached for the sky, pleading with fate. At the topmost window, Severus Snape clung to the bars. He watched the sea below, where a bandaged figure on a bier floated away and through the wards. It didn't cause so much as a ripple. When the last shred of white had disappeared, he closed his eyes.

Then he began to wait.


End file.
